Losing Side
by microfilariae
Summary: A little snippet of what life for Sherlock and John would be like if they lived on Pern. Done in response to someone mentioning a Pern/Sherlock crossover on tumblr.


J'ohn scratched at his dragon's left eye-ridges absent-mindedly, his thoughts drifting back to that warm place in his memory reserved for their Impression. He'd been scarcely more than a boy then, a short, quiet hold-bred lad who no one, not even his own family, had ever expected to amount to much. It had been a shock to his parents when he'd been chosen by a pair of riders on Search, and his sister had warned him that he'd probably get himself killed should he choose to stand as a candidate for Impression. Even he'd had his doubts; he was nothing special at all… Not a hero, not a fighter, just an average boy who took pride in doing average work and led an average life. But the dragons had been adamant about him, and not even J'ohn's parents could deny Benden Weyr a potential rider with thread due to fall in a few turns. So J'ohn had left his perfectly ordinary life and had stood on the sands when the telltale humming of the dragons began, heralding the arrival of Pern's newest protectors. There hadn't been a queen egg in that clutch, but that hadn't mattered to him in the slightest, because the first hatchling to break free of the confines of its shell that day had been a stunning brown named Watsoth. He'd raced across the sands—never even glancing at anyone else—and locked eyes with J'ohn. In that moment, lost in the swirling rainbows dancing in his jeweled eyes, he'd gained a lifelong companion. On that day he'd gone from Jhohn, simple holder-boy, to J'ohn, dragonrider of Pern.

"Do you know you do that?" S'lock commented curtly.

Startled out of his reverie, J'ohn scowled. "Do what?"

_Touch Watsoth when you remember things,_ Holmth answered, evidently annoyed by J'ohn's lack of instantaneous comprehension.

It had been entire months since he'd first encountered Holmth and his singularly odd rider, yet J'ohn was still not accustomed to hearing someone else's dragon speaking in his head. Dragons generally bespoke only their riders, or, in some cases, those very important to their riders. Oh, they were friendly enough to other people, and would always relay their thoughts to other people through their riders, but engaging random strangers in conversation was totally unheard of. Then again, J'ohn thought, white Holmth was no ordinary dragon. The very first time he'd met S'lock, it had been Holmth who'd first spoken to him, and when S'lock was thinking particularly hard, it was Holmth who John had to talk with. J'ohn certainly didn't mind; Holmth was, for all he mirrored his rider's habits and mannerisms, more compassionate and understanding than S'lock would ever be. If J'ohn was exasperated with something S'lock had done—and that was nearly always—he could count on Holmth to deliver a lengthy explanation of why he was upset. Additionally, while S'lock could seldom be persuaded by J'ohn to do things like eat or allow J'ohn to get some sleep, Holmth could persuade his rider to give in. Sometimes—very rarely—J'ohn could even question Holmth about his rider's often guarded emotions. In the end, it was probably better that Holmth was so terribly talkative. Besides, given that S'lock himself had little to no sense of boundaries, it was unlikely that his dragon would ever behave otherwise.

Watsoth snorted in annoyance. _They do not understand why watching the eggs hatch makes you want to touch me,_ he explained.

S'lock, having apparently been informed of Watsoth's remark by Holmth, rolled his eyes. "Wrong."

"Oh, go on," J'ohn groaned, "explain, please, because I'm in no mood for guessing games."

Pressing his fingertips together, S'lock began. "Nostalgia—which is what you were feeling, given your far-off expression, relaxed posture and slowed respiratory rate—is a common emotional reaction in dragonriders during a hatching. Your hands flew over to Watsoth's head right after that boy Impressed a few moments ago, clear case of emotional stimulus and reaction. But you don't just touch him when you're happy; when you think about the circumstances surrounding your injury and dismissal from Fort you also touch him. I'm usually too wrapped up in a case to notice, but Holmth informs me that you also touch Watsoth when we've just escaped any sort of danger."

Holmth bobbed his small (for a dragon) white head up and down in a draconic nod. _We've deduced that you subconsciously reach out for him as an emotional crutch. We think it is a soothing gesture, like when a child clings to a blanket._

"You've got it wrong, then," J'ohn replied.

_They understand, but they cannot understand._ His brown said cryptically, and then added _Not good._

Holmth's eyes churned red and yellow with irritation. _Wrong. As _I_ understand, so does S'lock. But I haven't explained it to him yet. I will._

"Not good?" S'lock asked, now visibly perplexed.

_Sentiment,_ Holmth responded sagely.

S'lock waved the notion away. "A defect found in the losing side, Holmth."

_They pretend,_ Watsoth said to J'ohn, _but they feel it also. Holmth is a dragon and S'lock is his rider. They need each other. But S'lock does not like to say so. Holmth tells me it makes him feel exposed. He also says to not tell S'lock what he has told me to tell you. _

J'ohn grinned. He'd known that already, but hearing that Holmth was so willing to betray his rider's trust and reveal the tiny portion of S'lock's brain that responded to an "emotional stimulus" in the way that normal people did—no matter how hard he tried to deny it—was oddly satisfying.

Another infant dragon—a brown—broke shell and wobbled over to the white-clad candidates, sniffing at a few before deciding on a scrawny boy who'd been hiding behind several taller peers. Tears streamed down the boy's face in an unmistakable display of pure joy, and J'ohn knew Impression had been made.

"His name is Hondurth!" The boy exclaimed.

As the crowd cheered the lad on, John's hand slipped once more to Watsoth's face, where his fingers massaged hide soft hide in slow, circling motions. The brown crooned affectionately in response, pushing his head into J'ohn's palm. Beside them, Holmth glared disapprovingly. _Remember J'ohn, it's found in the losing side_, he remarked.

But when neither Holmth nor S'lock thought their friends were looking, J'ohn caught a glimpse of S'lock's hand on his dragon's shoulder and thought he might have seen the faintest shadow of a smile cross the dragonrider's face.

_Losing side indeed, _he said to Watsoth.


End file.
